


Silver Lining

by Swashbuckler



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, DC Comics Rebirth, Escape, Gen, Isolation, Major Character Injury, Physical Abuse, Plans, Police Brutality, Prison, Rescue Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-22 07:24:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13162101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swashbuckler/pseuds/Swashbuckler
Summary: The cell had been made with Mirror Master in mind, Axel could tell; the metal walls, ceiling and floor all had a dull, grainy, matte finish - with no light and no shine, there was no way Sam could get out if locked up, or get in if one of his cronies was. Beyond admiring the decor, there was nothing to do in a dark, empty room besides find the toilet: it’s a hole in the floor tucked in the corner of the metal box. There wasn't even a bed. So he bundles up his long coat into a rough pillow and lays down.Axel Walker is not an optimist, but things could be worse.





	Silver Lining

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on a theory I had for what happened to Axel after we see him dragged off to solitary in The Flash #36. Since starting this fic I have read Issue #37 and taken inspiration from it, however I have not used Axel's canon appearance from that issue in the fic.
> 
>  
> 
> **As I have made clear in the tags, this fic is a lot darker than what I would usually write and therefore I would advise discretion when reading as Axel is underage and abused by the guards. If anyone thinks any other warnings/tags need to be added to this please let me know in the comments.**

Axel’s never considered himself an optimist. Not officially, anyway. He’s not a pessimist; he can’t be, not after accusing Mark of being one as often as he does, but he’s never analysed his own outlook with enough scrutiny to put a label on it. He just does, and just is, whatever he feels like. One thing’s for sure, though: he doesn’t feel the need to go looking for some silver lining to make himself feel better about things. 

That doesn’t mean he’s not chipper, though.

“Hey, you’ve redecorated,” Axel chirps as he’s hauled out of the lift by the armoured guards either side of him. The size of the guards’ bulky suits and the subsequent height at which they’re dragging him means his heels are skittering against the ground as he’s dragged backwards. “Gotta say, love what you’ve done with the place - the old ‘rotting basement’ look just felt so cliche for a prison torture chamber, ya know? Loving the new chrome aesthetic. Very modern, very chi--”

“Shut up, Trickster,” one of the Pipeline orders, his voice echoing through the speaker embedded in his helmet.

“What? I’m being nice, I don’t see what the problem i--” A thick hiss is forced out of Axel’s mouth as a heavy armoured fist struck him hard in the stomach as the other guard pulled him round, twisting Axel’s arms behind his back. The Trickster doubled over, wheezing at the floor as the pair of guards seized him under the arms again and dragged him down the corridor.

“We said,” the guard on his left who had punched him in the gut, “shut. Up.” 

Axel was jolted as the two guards stopped. There was an electronic beeping behind him which he awkwardly twisted around to see, only to be thrown backwards into a metal box, groaning as his back and head hit the hard floor. Shapeless smudges of grey were swimming in front of his eyes as the thud of one of the guards marching into the isolation chamber shook the ground he was lying on, the heavy stamping of his suit hammering against his skull. He whined and smacked a weak hand against the thick metal glove of the guard as the hand groped in his coat and pants pockets. 

“Got them,” he heard the guard say distantly to his friend and Axel was dimly aware of how cold his feet felt as the heavy footfalls marched away, maybe. The thud of the armoured suit was echoing around the metal box of the cell and Axel’s head still felt like it was being split in two. 

There was a slow creek and then a heavy slam metal against metal as the clinically white light from the corridor spilling into his cell was snuffed out. 

Axel groaned as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, blinking in the dark. Keeping his weight on his prosthetic, he patted himself down, checking everywhere. The yoyos and wind-ups Iron Heights had missed when they’d first been brought in were now gone, but that much he’d anticipated. As he sat up, he groaned in the dark as he pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged on the floor of his cell.

“Aww,” Axel whined as his socks slipped and slid against the metal floor, his beloved trainers taken with his few remaining toys. “No fair.” 

The cell had been made with Mirror Master in mind, Axel could tell; the metal walls, ceiling and floor all had a dull, grainy, matte finish - with no light and no shine, there was no way Sam could get out if locked up, or get in if one of his cronies was. Beyond admiring the decor, there was nothing to do in a dark, empty room besides find the toilet: it’s a hole in the floor tucked in the corner of the metal box. There wasn't even a bed. So he bundles up his long coat into a rough pillow and lays down.

Axel Walker is not an optimist, but things could be worse.

 

When he opens his eyes, it’s dark, but he can feel that he’s no longer lying down. He’s been forced upright and his hands are tied behind his back. Axel wriggles experimentally and soon finds that his ankles are bound to the chair too, his socked feet cold against the ground.

“‘If you have to explain a joke’,” the voice of Wolfe growls in the dark, “‘that means it’s not funny’.”

The room is flooded with searing white light that makes Axel’s head spin. It is not his cell - it is concrete and dank and colder than his cell. There’s a pipe leaking down the wall opposite. The other two walls at his sides are lined with men in riot gear. He blinks rapidly, hitching on a cheeky smile as the Warden steps closer. 

“Hey,” Axel says cheerfully, “you’re learning!” He considers it a victory when he doesn’t flinch when Wolfe whips the baton in his hand and it extends into a long, thin rod. 

“So,” the Warden says, his voice grating into a snarl, “this should be _hilarious._ ” The baton strikes Axel across the face, thin, sharp metal whipped through the air and slashing through his cheek. Axel drops his head, hissing from the sharp shock, blinking rapidly. 

“Still, I don’t think you’ve got the hang of this yet,” Axel says to his lap before raising his head enough to catch the Warden’s eye as the man bears down on him. “If it’s funny it’s supposed to be have *punch* line, not a whip line.” 

_“So be it.”_

 

He’s laughing when they drag him back to his cell. He gets another smack for laughing. 

“Freak,” he hears the guard hauling him along by the collar spit before he dumps him on the floor of his cell. Axel pushes himself onto his back, still giggling to himself as the door is pulled shut behind him.

“Love you too,” Axel laughs at the ceiling as the door is slammed shut. When his cell goes dark again, he closes his eyes and finally lets out the long, pained groan through his teeth he’d been fighting back for the last half hour. 

Axel Walker is not an optimist, but the pain will go eventually.

 

“He’s a kid.”

“He’s a _killer._ ” 

“He shouldn’t even be here, he’s not a Metahuman, and even if he _were-!_ ”

“He’s a _Rogue_. That’s good enough for me.” 

_Man, Wolfe is a dick,_ Axel thought to himself as he stared at the ceiling. It’s not new information, but it’s a nice thought to cling to. He exhaled slowly, easing his fingers up his stomach and hissing as the pain spiked. He recognised the other man’s voice - he’d heard it before, recently too. Someone in the prison? Chief of police or something, right? 

“Captain Singh, I am sure no one will blame me for dismissing your complaints on the basis of you possessing a...personal bias.”

 _Captain of the CCPD, yeah,_ Axel thinks to himself. David Singh. Knew he recognised the voice. 

_“‘Personal bias’?”_ He can hear the ice in Captain Singh’s tone, and Axel’s kinda glad he’s safely on the other side of the door; the man’s tone could rival even the most forbidding of Len’s moods. He winces as he touches his bare fingertips to his ribs, raised welts tender and warm to the touch. He doesn’t think his ribs are cracked though. It’s a small victory after being dragged off an hour ago for another beating. 

Axel is slowly learning the timetable to which the guards visit his cell and drag him off to dispense a beating. So far he’s gathered that that schedule fits up to a single pattern: whenever the guards feel like it. 

Axel snaps out of his daze - ****, he’s not concussed, is he? they did hit him round the head pretty hard this time - when he hears shouting. 

“-excuse to torture, you’re not better than the criminals you claim to lock up. In fact, you are worse than them, because you’re abusing your trusted position of power to pervert the course of justice into nothing short of sadism.” 

_Eyyy, go Captain Singh,_ Axel thinks with a grin. _Can’t believe I’m actually routing for a cop right now, but hey. David Singh for President 2020. That and, yikes, the cops are better than this lot. Can Wolfe get arrested? I wanna see Wolfe get arrested._

“Stand down, Captain Singh,” Wolfe’s voice makes Axel’s skin prickle. “We don’t want an incident.” 

The mechanical whir and thud of the Pipeline guards stomping up the corridor drowns out any response from David. “If you would like to exit the facility, Captain Singh.” 

Axel sits up, listening to the sound of the guards escorting the Captain of the CCPD out of the isolation wing. _Yikes, if they can push even him around…_

Axel Walker is not an optimist, not really. 

 

“Still think this is funny?” 

Axel’s giggling was ripped into a raw scream as his body convulsed, his spine arching up as his body seized up and was forced to uncurl, spine straightening and arching up as his arms and legs go rigid against the concrete floor.

“Stop, stop, plea-please sto-” Axel choked on his words as it felt like his tongue turn to stone. 

“And the facade finally drops,” Wolfe growls above him, silhouetted against the single flickering lamp of the the concrete interrogation room. “At last. We were wondering how long you’d make it last.”

Axel tries to speak but his tongue cramps up again and the viciously tight pain in his arms, legs and back twists and spikes and all he can do is whimper, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. What-- How--?!

Axel Walker is not an optimist.

 

“Pluh-please,” Axel sobs as he’s dragged back to his cell, limp body hanging between two armoured suits as he’s escorted back to his cell in isolation. “Plea-please, I want my mom, I just want my mom,” he snivelled, tears dripping down his stinging, bruised cheek. 

“Should’ve thought of that before you became a murderer, kid.” 

Axel gave a shout of pain as fresh bruises and cracked ribs collided with the metal floor of his cell as he was thrown to the ground. He curled in on himself, his back to the door as he cradled his stomach with a moan, snivelling into his knees.

“Man, even the Pied Piper lasted longer in here than he did,” laughed one of the guards as the door was pulled shut again. When the automatic locks clicked into place, Axel’s snivelling ceased. Stretching out his legs with a groan, Axel rolled carefully onto his back and spread his arms and legs wide, wincing against the burn in his abdomen, and his knees, and his ribs, and his neck and face. 

_Yeesch,_ he thought to himself as he wiped the tears from his face along with the mess dripping from his smarting cheek. _Mark wasn’t kidding when he said these guys were dicks._ Sure, the crying thing had been a cheap shot for some pity, but he hadn’t expected the beating to increase when the tears started. _Shame on them,_ Axel thought dazedly as his eyes slipped shut. _Beating on a kid._

Kid. A giggle bubbles out of his mouth along with something he starts to choke on so he rolls over and heaves it out, spitting and gagging. The Rogues call him ‘kid’. And now he can practically hear Cold’s voice in his head - _you’ve got a job to do, kid. Get on with it. You found out what you needed to know, now the sooner you do it, the sooner you’re out._

"Yeah, yeah," Axel told the voice as he lay back on the cold metal floor and closed his eyes. "Five minutes." 

Axel opens his eyes some time later and breathes a sigh of relief when he realises he is still on the floor of his dark metal box, alone, not in a dank concrete cell that’s easier to spray clean. 

_Alright,_ he thinks, trying to concentrate. _Damage report._ Axel sneaks his fingers up underneath his shirt, gingerly touching his skin with his flesh hand, wincing and biting back little pained noises when he finds tender spots and burning bruises. He sits up slowly and, even more slowly, gets to his feet. He tries a couple of steps and breathes a sigh of relief when he figures that none of his bones are broken. Well, at least no limbs. He half sits, half falls back to the floor again a moment later, but that had been the plan so he dismisses it with a little too much ease. His metal hand goes to the Metahuman collar heavy around his neck. 

“Yeah, nah,” he mutters. “Time to get rid of this thing.” He gropes blindly in the dark at his prosthetic, swears, and pulls the glove off of it with his teeth, spitting it into his lap. “C’mon, c’mon,” he mutters to himself as he runs his fingers over ribbed metalwork of his right forearm, searching for it. “Where are you, baby, c’mon, don’t do this to m- yes!” he hisses as the length of wire he’d loosely soldered to his prosthetic months ago comes loose in his hand. 

There are no cameras in the isolation cells. The people in there are not meant to be seen; they are meant to be forgotten. 

Axel Walker is not an optimist, but he’s sure as hell never gonna be forgotten. 

 

He so badly wants to smash the collar to pieces when it clicks and slides off over his head, but he knows that any damage to its circuits will set off the alarm and his cell will be flooded with guards within seconds. Instead he places it down on the floor in the centre of his cell with a smirk. 

“And now,” he murmurs to himself, pulling on his gloves and placing the purple domino mask over his eyes, “for my greatest disappearing trick, I am going to need a volunteer.” He pads over to the door that he’s tripped with the wire and places his ear against the shutter, waiting. Stomping up the corridor, right on cue, come the footfalls of the Pipeline guards on their patrol of the facility. Their footsteps crashed past his cell, and then dissipated again. Axel grinned to himself, twisting the wire through the connections in the cell door’s lock. 

_Showtime._

 

He runs down the corridor, further into the depths of the isolation wing, socks skidding on the metal floor as he slides around a corner. 

_Go, Trickster, go!_

_Run, kid!_

_Whoo-hooo!_

He keeps running, grinning to himself as he remembers the Rogues cheers during his daring ‘escape’ from two weeks ago and counting as he goes. 

“One-” he skids around another corner and jumps down the short flight of stairs, yanking hold of the bannister to prevent himself crashing onto his back as his socks slip on the floor. He rights himself and continues, heart hammering in his chest. “Two- three- four-!” Axel slips past the fourth isolation cell, tucked at the end of the corridor. 

Axel bounces up on his toes, peeking through the shutter once he’s slid it open.

“Housekeeping!” he calls through, grinning as the head of the shape lurking at the back of the cell snaps up to look at him. 

The figure is silent for a moment before croaking out “Who are you?”

“I’m Luke Skywalker, I’m here to rescue you!” The shadow sat at the back of the cell snorts derisively. Axel blows a raspberry in response. “ Fine, fine. I’m the Trickster, yo, and you’re getting an early release of now instead of never.” 

“Trickster,” the low voice repeats. “But you are not James.” 

Axel rolls his eyes. “You don’t say,” he says snidely, his nasal whine drenched in sarcasm as he works his strip of wire through the lock. “Not like anyone’s ever pointed _that_ out to me before. I’m Axel, I’m the Trickster, and I’m-” he says as he yanks the door open “-your ticket out of here.”

“Why are you rescuing me?” the figure asks as he rises. 

“Because I’m nice?” wheedles Axel, and the figure snorts derisively. 

“That is not the trait of a Trickster, nor is trustworthiness.” 

“Fine, fine,” Axel concedes, glancing over his shoulder. “I was sent here to break you out,” he says honestly. “And offer you a place amongst the Rogues.”

“And if I say ‘no’?” the figure bites back without hesitation. Axel shrugs, tongue stuck in his cheek.

“I’ll still unlock you,” Axel says casually, gesturing to his neck. “As long as you help me get my effects back out of lock up on our way out,” he adds seriously, pointing to his wiggling, socked toes. “My feet are getting cold.” 

“So the Rogues sent you down here to get me,” the man murmurs as he steps forward and Axel cannot help the reflexive step back he takes as Roscoe Dillon emerges out of the shadows of his cell, his face twisted in pure contempt. "And why would they do that?” 

Axel swallows thickly before his face cracks into a cheeky smile.

“Because they’re nice?” 

Roscoe Dillon does not smile. 

"Yeesch, c'mon, dude, work with me here," scoffs Axel, pulling the door almost shut behind him. "I'm literally here to break you out, I've been getting beat up for two weeks just to get this chance. Little gratitude would not go amiss, yo." 

Roscoe cocks his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. _Does he not get it or something?_ Axel wonders. _The Rogues did say he might be skeptical, but for real?_ He watches the Top's face for any potentially revelation or thanks, but the only movement he finally gets is a raised eyebrow and Axel has to bite his tongue to not make a Star Trek joke. 

"Alright. Thank you," Roscoe says finally. Axel beams.

“See? Not so hard! Now, take a seat, get comfy,” Axel simpered waving a hand at the floor as he stepped into the cell. Roscoe just glared at him. “Yeesh, work with me here,” Axel huffed, stretching up on his tip toes and jutting his jaw to the side. “They took my Airwalkers and puberty still freaking owes me for the height, okay? Do you want the Warden's torture collar off or not?” 

Roscoe held Axel’s defiant gaze for a good minute, until the teenager twitched uncomfortably, his eyes briefly flicking away past his ear as he blinked rapidly. Roscoe exhaled through his nose as he failed not to smile. 

“Alright.” 

Axel shuddered as Roscoe turned away and sat down, crossing his legs. He’d heard a lot about Roscoe from the Rogues. Well, he’d heard something from the guys. That the Top was a bit of a joke, really, and not in the same way the Tricksters ever were. 

Axel was starting to wonder now whether the Rogues knew they were lying to themselves. 

“Dude, stop flinching.” 

“That is not my fault.” 

“Whatever,” Axel muttered. “Chin up.” Roscoe, thankfully, obeyed, closing his eyes as Axel set to work on the heavy collar. 

“This won’t trigger any kind of alarm?” Roscoe asked. 

“Have a little faith, my dude,” Axel sniggered. “Am I wearing a collar? Do you see any guards?”

After a long pause, Roscoe conceded with a curt “no”. 

“‘Xactly.”

Roscoe sat in silence on his cell floor as the Trickster worked. After a little while, Axel broke the silence with a cough. 

“So, uhm, I’m not crazy, right? Wolfe’s a Meta, yeah?”

Roscoe relaxed so clearly that Axel made a confused noise. “That a good thing or something?”

“I was anticipating you saying that there was a problem with removing the collar.”

Axel snorted. “Nothing wrong my skills, yo. And to prove it- Voila!” he cheered, whipping the collar off of Roscoe’s neck in one fluid motion. 

Roscoe’s eyes snapped open and Axel’s knees buckled as the world began to twist and melt around him. 

“Wha’s-” he slurred, swaying on the spot. He stumbled, one foot catching on the other and the world flew past him as he fell backwards and knew any second he was going to hit the ground and- 

It never happened. As quickly as the world had began to contort, it righted itself, like a blast of sound suddenly muted. Axel blinked awkwardly, desperately trying to adjust his eyes, and it was only after a moment that he realised that his metal arm was being held in a strong grip.

“Sorry,” the Top smiled down at him as he held him up off the floor. “I just feel so much better now that thing is off.”

“Glad you do,” grumbled Axel as Roscoe pulled him up onto his feet again. 

“How do you do it?” Roscoe asked curiously as Axel placed the collar down in a corner.

“I found an error in the wiring, works as a loophole. Nothing’s broken, per se, as the fault was already there - nothing’s changed, ergo, no error registered,” Axel said with pride, rocking back and forth on his toes. “Sooooo,” he wheedled, “the Rogues-” Roscoe cuts him off with a look of unadulterated contempt, and Axel cannot help but squirm a little under his steely gaze. The man is a good six-foot tall at least, and while his hair is wild and his face is filthy and his once vibrant costume is now muted and ashen, this makes him no less intimidating.

“Why would I go back to the Rogues?” Roscoe asked imperiously. “They never appreciated me, my talents, my genius. I am not going to be taken advantage of again.” 

“Big mood.”

“What?” 

“Same here, I feel ya,” Axel stressed. “It’s not easy trying to fill flying shoes, ya know? Pretty sure they’re still comparing me to Jesse after all these years behind my back. I mean, give a guy a break, right?” 

“...Right. Is that why you were sent to get me?” 

Axel thinks on this for a moment. “Wait, you asking why I came to get _you_ or why _I_ came to get you?” he asks, pointing at them both in turn.

“Both.” 

“”Weeeelll,” Axel drawled, “Mirror Master’s got criminal connections and can do most of the legwork around the city, Joey breaking out would be the opposite of subtle,” Axel sniggered. “Mark’s done his fair share in the Pipeline so he got removed from the running,” he added with a wince, ticking off another finger. “Mickolas is making sure the Rogue operations go smoothly while Lenjamin, our fearless leader-” he stops as Roscoe’s lip curls up over his teeth.

“Is Leonard still going? Still insisting on playing ‘king of the hill’?” 

“Oh, Len’s gone full Godfather,” Axel nods with a sly smile. “”S a good look on him. The, uh, goatee isn’t though,” he added wiggling a finger against his chin. “I swear no Rogue can actually pull off a beard; it just looks weird. Mark’s is alright, I guess, but his doesn’t make him look like a dodgy stage magician. Funny considering he’s the Weather _Wiz-_ ”

“Do you ever shut up?” Roscoe groaned, rubbing his temples. “I’m starting to miss the peace and quiet of solitary confinement,” he spat. Axel just scuffed his socked feet against the metal floor. 

“No need to be rude,” 

“Do not try and guilt me with sad eyes, it does not work,” Roscoe said curtly, and Axel’s pout split into something mischevious. 

“Eh,” he grinned, “worth a try, right?” 

“Hmm,” Roscoe hummed skeptically, and Axel decided it was an agreement regardless. “You didn’t answer my other question. Why did you - why did Snart want me broken out, of all people?” 

Axel spread his hands wide and shrugged. “Nostalgia?” he dared. “Nah, nah,” he said quickly with a wave of his metal hand when Roscoe rolled his eyes, “he said you’re smart on a whole new level and had this wicked skill-set - I mean, I’ve heard the stories,” he said with wide-eyed glee. He bit his lip as he grinned. “That and he reckons you’ll be more skeeved off at the Warden than at him by now so he figured...enemy of my enemy and all…” He trailed off with a cheeky smile. 

“Why are you only breaking me out now then?” Roscoe snapped. “I’ve been here for _years_ ,” he hissed. Axel raised his hands defensively. 

“We didn’t know! We didn't know! We've, uh, kinda avoided Iron Heights as best as possible, you know? Prison freaking sucks, especially this one!” Axel said, gesturing to his bruised face. “Len thought you were dead so-”

“Len should know by now that I am far too stubborn to let that stop me,” Roscoe murmured under his breath, only to glare at Axel when he laughed. 

“That’s pretty much what Lenny said when he saw that your file in the system and that you were alive and kicking,” he giggled. He coughed and pressed his fingers against his throat, and made his voice go rough. “‘Shoulda known that stubborn ******* wouldn’t die that easy’,” he growled in his imitation of Len’s voice. Roscoe snorted.

“Now, as much as I’ve enjoyed our little chat, I’m pretty sure they’re gonna notice I’m not in my cell soon so - shall we?” 

“Mm,” Roscoe hummed, rolling his head from one shoulder to the other, wincing as his neck rattled off a string of clicks. “Let’s.” 

“But, before we do,” Axel added quickly, bouncing in front of Roscoe, “are you sure you won’t return to the Rogues?” 

Roscoe did not hesitate before responding. “I will not return to the Rogues. It’s not worth the trouble.” 

“Huh,” Axel said, his disappointment evident. “I was kinda hoping you’d come back. I’ve never seen you properly in action. Missed the show last time because Jesse was trying to throw me in the dumpster at the time.”

“Flattery will not get me to come back,” Roscoe muttered, and Axel had a sneaking suspicion an ‘even’ was missing from the beginning of that sentence.

“Huh, ‘kay,” Axel shrugged, unlocking the cell door again with his strip of wire. “I’ll tell Cold you turned down his offer. Have fun doing whatever else instead, I guess. ‘S just a shame, really,” Axel said casually as he heaved open the cell door, “what with us getting the band back together ‘n all, Golden Glider's got this wicked new outfit and brand new skates and she’s just-” 

“Wait.” Axel’s caught his lower lip between his teeth as he grinned and waited. “Lisa….Lisa’s alive?” 

“What?” Axel glanced over his shoulder, face innocent. “Oh, sorry, did I forget to mention that?”

He can see the spark in Roscoe’s eyes, the instant wave of relief, of delight, of awe, of determination. 

“Well then,” Roscoe says, pushing past Axel with his head held high. “It’d be rude to keep the lady waiting, wouldn’t it?” 

Axel Walker is not an optimist, he is a realist, so he knows silver linings are good, but gold, oh gold, is a way better motivator.

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really hate Gregory Wolfe and am eagerly awaiting his arrest and the destruction of Iron Heights Penitentiary.
> 
> It occurred to me that - considering how unfazed the Rogues were about Axel being sent to solitary that there might be some plan in place that required him to be in solitary, and tying that in with Turbine's death made me wonder if there might be someone else in solitary that needed breaking out.
> 
> (Since starting this I have read Issue #37. Someone get that boy out of Iron Heights _now_ please.)


End file.
